The lesson began almost immediately after our conversation.

  Emberheart moved to one of his cluttered shelves and retrieved a metallic orb, roughly the size of an apple. He placed it in my hands without ceremony. It was cold and surprisingly heavy, like solid iron.

  "Channel your energy into it. As much as you can manage."

  He stepped back, watching the orb intently.

  I focused, drawing on the same energy I used when writing rules in the air. Usually I only needed a trickle for the symbols themselves, but now I pushed more of it into the sphere, feeling it flow from my core through my hands.

  The orb began to warm slightly in my grip, its surface taking on a faint blue glow. Not bright, just a weak luminescence that barely lit my palms.

  After about ten seconds, Emberheart raised his hand. "That's sufficient. You can stop."

  I released the flow, and the orb's glow faded immediately. The warmth lingered for a moment before it returned to its original cold state.

  "Your mana, output and intensity are all... average." He seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowing slightly. "We could do a deeper analysis, but that would require a mana specialist." Something about the idea clearly bothered him, though I couldn't tell why.

  "Is average bad?" I asked, genuine concern creeping into my voice. After everything I'd told him, I'd half-expected something more dramatic.

  "I somehow expected you to explode the orb." He admitted it so plainly that I couldn't help but laugh.

  "That would certainly make an impression," I said, imagining the faces people would make if I'd just detonated a testing orb in an S-rank mage's study.

  Emberheart didn't laugh. Instead, he paused, studying me with those sharp eyes of his. Then his expression shifted to something like certainty.

  "You ruled it."

  The words hit me like cold water. "What?"

  "The temperature of the orb reveals the strength of your output." He moved to his bookshelf with purpose, scanning titles before pulling out a thick tome. "Mana output tends to strengthen as you age until reaching a peak, then gradually decrease. The formula..."

  He flipped through pages rapidly, his finger tracing lines of text.

  I felt caught. Again.

  "According to this," he continued, "for someone your age, average output falls between 47 and 53 degrees. Your result was exactly 50 degrees. To the decimal point." He looked up from the book, meeting my eyes. "I'm not equipped to properly evaluate the other measurements here, but I would wager they'd show the same pattern. Exactly average. Suspiciously so."

  I sighed, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, you got me. It was actually my first rule. I thought if I made myself average for a mage, it would help me blend in. Make me less noticeable."

  "Then what is your true power? Your actual capacity?"

  "This one." I said it with more force than I'd intended. "I won't use my ability to artificially boost my strength. Every improvement I make needs to be earned, not cheated into existence."

  Emberheart seemed genuinely surprised. He closed the book slowly, considering my words.

  "I see." His tone carried a weight of respect I hadn't expected. "It will be a difficult road. But not impossible. There are mages who have climbed to S-rank starting with nothing but average reserves and determination." He returned the book to its shelf with care. "Though I'll admit, they're rare. Only one alive currently."

  "I'm ready for it," I said, and realized I meant it. "I want to learn magic through my own effort. Not because reality bent to make me powerful."

  Where was all this determination coming from? Two days ago I'd just wanted to stay invisible.

  "Admirable." Emberheart began moving around the study, gathering items from various shelves and his desk. "As things stand, you won't beat any high-ranking students in the competition through conventional means. Not yet. But I can give you tools and techniques that will work in conjunction with your ability."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He collected an assortment of objects: two books from his desk, three peculiar magical instruments that glowed faintly with residual enchantments.

  "These training implements are yours to keep. I expect you to work with them until our next session." He held up the first device, a glass cylinder with copper bands around each end. "This is a mana siphon. You need to grow accustomed to sustained mana expenditure and increase your output capacity. The objective is to fill it as quickly as possible, or until your reserves run completely dry."

  He demonstrated, channeling mana into one end. The glass filled with soft blue light, swirling like water being poured. Then he handed it to me.

  "While your mana is recovering," he continued, picking up the second device, "you'll use this." It was a clear sphere about the size of my fist, suspended in a brass mounting. "It's a focusing sphere. The objective is to create and maintain images inside it using only your mana manipulation."

  He held it in his palm and concentrated. Symbols formed in the sphere's center, glowing lines that twisted into recognizable shapes. A bird. A flame. A sword. Each one crisp and detailed before fading to make room for the next.

  "It's similar to how you draw rules in the air, except without the aid of your fingers or the ancient script guiding you. Pure visualization and control." He set it down and handed me one of the books. "The practice forms are detailed here. Master as many as you can."

  Then he offered the second book, and I was surprised to see it wasn't a textbook. The cover showed an illustrated mage casting dramatic magic.

  "This is a fantasy novel," Emberheart explained, catching my confusion. "But the protagonist uses our world's actual magic system. The author goes into considerable detail about how magic feels, how it flows, what's possible with different approaches. You need to understand what magic looks like in normal practice, not just theory."

  "You're assigning me light novel homework?" I couldn't keep the amusement from my voice.

  "I'm assigning you practical cultural education," he corrected, but there was the ghost of a smile. "Consider it research."

  Finally, he held up the last device. It was smaller than the others, a brass apparatus with a tiny stone suspended in its center by barely visible wires.

  "This is what we'll work with today. An efficiency regulator." He rotated it slowly so I could see from all angles. "Since mana doesn't naturally replenish from the environment for most people, increasing your total capacity is a slow, natural process. However, we can train you to use what you have more efficiently."

  He pointed to the suspended stone. "Your objective is to spin that rock using as little mana as possible. Not as much as you can manage—as little. It teaches precision and control."

  "So I'm supposed to... make it spin? That's it?"

  "Try it."

  I took the device and stared at the stone. It looked simple enough. I reached for my mana and pushed a thread of it toward the rock.

  Nothing happened.

  I pushed harder. The stone trembled slightly but didn't rotate.

  "You're using too much power and not enough direction," Emberheart observed. "Magic isn't about force. It's about intent and control. Try again."

  I tried. And tried. And kept trying.

  For the next hour, I attempted to make that infuriating little stone spin while Emberheart offered corrections, adjustments, and the occasional observation about my technique. The stone would wobble, twitch, sometimes rotate a quarter turn before stopping. But never a smooth, continuous spin.

  It was frustrating in a way that writing rules never was. Rules just... worked. They followed my intent perfectly because that was their nature. This was like trying to push a boulder uphill using only my breath.

  "Better," Emberheart said when I finally managed a full rotation, though it was jerky and uneven. "You're beginning to understand the principle. Efficiency in magic is about finding the path of least resistance, not overpowering the obstacle."

  "This is way harder than I expected."

  "Good. If it were easy, it wouldn't be training." He glanced at the window, noting the fading light. "That's enough for today. Your mana is nearly depleted, and continuing would just form bad habits."

  I realized he was right. I felt drained in a way that was completely unfamiliar. Not physically tired, but something deeper. Like I'd been holding my breath for too long.

  "Take the training implements with you," Emberheart said, gathering them into a small carrying case. "Work with the siphon in the mornings, the focusing sphere in the afternoons, and read the novel in the evenings. We'll assess your progress in our next session."

  "Wait." I looked at the collection of items, then at my schedule. "I'm supposed to study with Lina today. For Theron's test."

  "I'm afraid that won't be possible." Emberheart's tone was sympathetic but firm. "You're in no condition to study theory right now. Your mind needs rest after mana depletion. Send her an apology and reschedule."

  He was right, of course. I could barely focus on his words, let alone complex mathematical formulas.

  I gathered my new training equipment, thanked him, and headed for the door.

  "Just remember," he continued, "there's no shame in using the tools you have when the situation demands it. Refusing to use your ability out of pride could be just as foolish as relying on it entirely."

  "I'll remember."

  I left his study feeling like I'd run a marathon, arms full of magical training implements, and my mind buzzing with too many thoughts to process.

  Clearly I would not be studying with Lina today. I just hoped she'd understand.

  Actually, knowing Lina, she probably wouldn't. But maybe she'd forgive me eventually.